Fury of Vernon Dursely: The Wrath Of A Man Thrice Scorned
by Vaslord
Summary: It takes a self awakening. An unbalanced push through desperation. A rise to true greatness sometimes requires a fall to disgrace. Beware because there are things a man, indeed, should fear: The love of a woman, The trapped desperation of one who's been cornered, and the wrath of a man thrice scorned. Follow Vernon Dursley as he carves a path through darkness none have seen...


Fury of Vernon Dursely: The Wrath Of A Man Thrice Scorned

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Vernon's gaze flicked down, up, then down again. He'd tried to wrap his head around it, but it was hard to get a coherent thought through the blankness that enveloped his mind. There simply could not be a baby on his front porch he reasoned. Surreal as reality was on occasion, shit like this did not happen to normal folk like him.

Why did life keep shitting on him? Vernon seriously pondered.

Throughout all of his life he'd followed a very straight narrow path. A path that should have led to success. He'd got his education, got the wife, the job, the house and the damn kid. It didn't matter that he'd never particular wanted to marry anyone let alone someone as plain as Petunia; nor did it matter that he couldn't have imagined himself becoming selfless enough to care for a son. And it damn sure didn't matter that he had to settle for a job where he had to debase himself to gather more clients to take care of said wife and son. Oh no, he'd never complained. No, he did the path of his life, did the job, the kid, hell he even "did" the wife, no matter how plain.

Therefore, he reasoned, some fuckwit could not have just dropped a baby on his porch for the simple reason that he'd followed the rules. Hell, he followed them all his life. No drugs, no gambling, no whoring or heavy drinking. Never ever heavy drinking again. The one time Vernon did get drunk off his ass at a party he'd blindly bedded Petunia and a day later he did the proper thing and thought to date her for a little while. When he found out she was pregnant he'd followed the path and did the right thing by marrying her. He took care of a family he didn't love, got a job he didn't want, and was prepared to live out this sub-par life because it was considered the standard, mainly, life's great "success". This was the goal and life's crowning great achievement.

Vernon felt the pressure bubbling. Right there; it was already beginning in his neck. Even while he felt his great chest and stomach constrict and his hands shake simultaneously, he felt the overall pressure spider crawl from his neck to his reddening cheeks. Vernon's eyes grew tight as it continued up, so tight he screwed them shut; it was too painful to keep them open. Still up it went, warming his forehead and... dear God, Vernon felt it shooting up to his brain. Up and up it would go until...

Vernon reigned hard on his rage, his massive frame locked with the effort. It was painful; it had always been so. At times, it didn't feel like Vernon was struggling with an emotion so much as a living thing. His wrath bucked and heaved even as he tried to lower the pressure. His meaty hands clenched as he squared his shoulders and braced his aching trembling legs against the staggering weight, red face breathing hard.

For the longest time he'd struggled with it; The... "thing"; his rage. When he was younger, Vernon Dursley's anger was a sight to behold. He couldn't control it and he could never puzzle out why his parents or any adult figure would get angry at him for letting out his anger. He'd thought that everyone had such explosive rage you see. So what if he grabbed a maggot or three and choked the living shit out of them so long as the awful pressure abated. He could never understand it. How was he supposed to stay calm when he felt like bursting? He'd tried to explain, tried very very hard, but they never understood. They were full of patronizing advice and deep breathing exercises, but that was akin to trying to stop volcanic lava with a water sprinkler. Still he tried all the same, one breath in and one breath out. The pressure would rise and he'd just... breath.

At six years old, Vernon was playing with his toy cars. He enjoyed it. He liked how the wheels scrapped on the tiled floors in school during their breaks and he took every opportunity to leave some tracks on the pristine white washed floors. It was a matter of skill and precision when he marked that hard surface with just the right black streak from the wheels once he swiped his hand held cars across. He was sectioned off in his own corner in the play area back towards the room, which made it difficult to disturb anyone and more importantly near impossible to disturb him; toy cars needed room after all.

Still, this did not stop Jax Stanley, a much heavier and taller boy, from crossing over him and snatching one of his cars. _Breath~._ Vernon had asked politely for him to return it even through all his taunting. _Breath~._ He was slightly less polite, but still calm as he continued to ask for it back. _Breath~_. The pressure was mounting, he wasn't giving it back. _Breathe~._ As Jax jeered and capered his voice mocking loud as the class stared, Vernon felt it. Felt it penetrating through his brain and gearing up and up. _B-Breath~!_ Vernon's upper tooth chipped when the metal car smacked him, Jax's arm still up and cocked from the throw as he leered. The pressure! The pressure was...

Vernon swore to the principal and his parents that, no, he didn't know how Jax's head had ended up in his hand, smashed nose trailing blood down the left hand precariously grappling Jax's face, as Vernon's right pummeled the living shit out of the boys temple; meaty wet flesh smacks echoing across the enclosure. Jax's life was spared simply because Vernon's six year old body and small knuckles could not leverage the right amount of force behind his small weight to cave in his brain. It took hours of convincing and a trip to the Psychologists office before, Yes, he agreed to go to Anger management and, no, he would never do it again.

Throughout his life he had similar incidents until he could tamp it completely down. The older he got the more pressure was brought to bear as if it was growing along with him, expanding and smothering. It was an awful sensation, as if his mind was boiling until he blanked and his body moved on its on, lethal and quick, pouncing faster than it ought to. The end result was always violence. He could not remember how many times he'd left some vermin a broken wretch twitching on the floor. Anger management turned out to be quite the boon, mental instability as it turns out is an all around defense from a massive number of lawsuits, which would have left his parents bankrupt if they had to pay out of pocket.

Over time, as he grew older, so did his control. The fact that he'd never outright murdered was due to that simple fact. Even if he wasn't completely aware, it seemed that his efforts to cork his mad impulse of rage brought about a lessening of physical harm slowly but surely. Instead of breaking bones, he started to bruise. Instead of bruise he'd started to insult. Until finally, he could halt it. The effort was massive at first. Sometimes he'd lay on the ground heaving, his breath a scratchy gasp as he won the battle. His shirt matted with sweat, eyes red, body aching as if he climbed a mountain. The time he'd found out petunia was pregnant the force of his restraint caused his nose to bleed. A full outpouring of blood that took twenty minutes to stop as he restrained his anger in the bathroom with forced joy still plastered across his face afterwards in front of her. That had truly terrified him. Who the fuck bleeds from restraining their anger?

But then again it had always been an unnatural thing. A dark oppressive energy swirling across his b-

A sharp piercing wail broke Vernon out of his macabre thoughts. He looked down in confusion. The baby! He'd forgotten about the baby. The whole goddamn neighborhood would hear the thing at this rate.

"PETUNIA!" Vernon bellowed, after picking up the small bundle and closing the door.

After a moment, a clattering of footsteps could be heard on the stairs as a women stepped out her hands cinching the white robe adorning her tight across her body.

"Vernon, what is it?" Petunia asked, her voice taking on an irritating lilt that still scratched at Vernon even after all these years.

Vernon eyes shifted to his wife catching her eye as he shook his head and pointed down. "More like who is it?"

Petunia eyed the toddler who had quieted down after being brought in. She felt trepidation as she eyed the small note wedged in the corner of the baby basket. Even as she bent down reluctantly to grab it, emerald shimmered as the infant opened it's eyes and her heart stopped.

Petunia shook as she read the note quietly. Even as she registered the words that were inscribed with a quill in precise looping scrips on ancient parchment, she felt as though she were moving slowly in a fast creeping nightmare.

It was a long beat of silence before she spoke. "Vernon... T-there's something I-I need to tell you..."

Vernon's gaze hardened even as she spoke the words. Already he felt the staccato beat of the pressure building again even as realization dawned. Life... Life had shitted on him again.


End file.
